


home isn't a place

by Anonymous



Series: anon's angsty sbi stuff :) [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU - Superpowers, AU - group home, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mutant Powers, Other, Sparring, i feel so bad for using tubbos real name, im so sorry for so many tags, no beta we die like tommyinnit, pyromaniac sapnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: tommys always felt different, and he's never been able to fully make connections with people. that is, until someone named Phil decides to take him in.oryet another sbi superpower au :)title from All In by Jennifer Lynn Barnes
Relationships: Background Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Background Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smtih | Tubbo, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: anon's angsty sbi stuff :) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191284
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54
Collections: Anonymous





	home isn't a place

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [oh, we can be heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283679) by [Reya0907](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reya0907/pseuds/Reya0907). 



> anon back w another fic!
> 
> i hope yall like this one too.

Tommy always knew he was weird. He always knew he wasn’t exactly like other people. When he turned 5, his mother made him start wearing gloves. She always called them his “special gloves,” and said it was a skin condition, one that could harm others if he didn’t wear them. A year later, almost to the day, she died. His gloves grew too small, but he refused to part with them until they ripped into pieces. He was in foster care until he turned 15. He bounced around from home to home, never really fitting in. He always had to leave for some reason or another. 

He never did stop wearing gloves, but they changed as his personality did. When he turned 13, he was given a package. No-one knew who it was from. The package contained a note, signed someone named “P,” and a new pair of gloves. These were faux leather, with a small cutout on the tops of his hands. They were a little large, but he loved them. He slowly grew into them, and when he turned 15, although they were still a little too big, he received a letter. It was signed, like the note from 2 years ago, “P.” 

_ Tommy, _

_ I’m so sorry you have to learn of my world, of your world really, like this. To put it frankly, your mother was special and so are you. I knew your mom and I was so sorry to hear of her death. Your mother and I were never extremely close but she knew you were special. I’ll be coming for you soon, and you need to be ready to enter a world you never thought possible. _

_ P. _

* * *

“Tommy, big news dude!” 

James was cool, one of the few cool foster parents he had stayed with. Sure they argued, but he never hit Tommy, only ever yelled occasionally, fed him enough, and all that jazz. 

“‘Sup James? What’s the news?” He hadn’t told James about the letter, he hadn’t told anyone. Not like he had anyone besides James, or his wife Anna, to tell. He had brushed it off as some crazy who had somehow found him. 

“Someone’s decided to take you in, long term, in a group home for kids with special talents. Said he knew your mom or something. You got a hidden talent you’re not telling us about mate?”

That stopped the boy in his tracks.

“‘Scuse me?” He asked incredulously. As far as he knew, he didn’t have any special talents. He wasn’t great at singing, or sports, or art, or dance, or anything, really. 

“Yeah! ‘is name’s Phil, and-”

Tommy tuned him out from there. Could Phil be the man sending him things? Phil certainly started with the letter P. As he zoned back in, James was wrapping up what he was saying.

“He should be coming tomorrow to pick you up. That’s great, innit? Gonna miss you though, man, you’re great company.” 

He nodded and tried to feel anything but a deep unease. 

So Tommy was going to be leaving for some sort of a special school for kids with talents tomorrow. Does he have anything special about him besides a dead mom and some cool gloves? No. Is he willing to give it a try because it totally beats being bored every day? Absolutely. 

While he packed, he tried to think about anyone in his mom's life that he met, before she died. She never really talked about her life before him, and always told him that he was her whole world. 

Because of that, and the closeness he had felt to his mother before she died, he didn't think he could ever love anyone again. At least, not the way he loved his mom. Sure, he loved James and Anna, but then again, wouldn’t a kid like him love anyone who gave him a warm bed and half-decent food. (He always told himself he needed to give more credit to Anna’s food, her homemade challah on Sabbaths were amazing. He wasn’t Jewish himself, but James and Anna were, so for the month he had been there, he celebrated with them. And don’t even get him started on her Matzo ball soup, his mouth watered just thinking about it.) He’d always been closed off, his mother the only person he spoke to. 

Yes, she was dead. That didn't mean he couldn't talk to her, did it? It was difficult for him to make friends because of this, but James and Anna were fairly understanding. They knew it wasn’t normal, but what was going to be normal about a foster kid? The “conversations,” were always one way, and usually occurred on nights in which Tommy was especially stressed. That night was one of him. He liked to talk to himself, while he did things. It made it easier. As he walked around his room, collecting his meager belongings, he started talking. 

“Hey Mom, I dunno if you ever hear me when I talk but… I guess I need someone to talk to? Bein’ a foster kid is lonely if ‘m bein’ honest. I’m packin’ for some special group home right now. ‘Possed to be a place for kids with special talents. I don’ think they got the right person,'' he laughed out, only kind of bitter. “I dunno what it’s going to be like. There’s this- this man? I think they’re a man at least, sending me letters, and ‘e said ‘e knew you. I never met your friends, don’ even remember you talkin’ ‘bout ‘em. I guess you were mainly focused on what our next meal was, aye? Not that I blame you. You tried your best.”

He didn’t blame her, not really. He never learned much about his mother, and he knew nothing about his father. All he knew is that his mother’s parents didn’t like the choices she made with her life. He wasn’t really mad at them, but at his father, he was. He was so, so, so mad at his father. What gave him the right to get his mom pregnant just to leave? What coward does that? 

Tommy’s father, that’s who. 

His mother had expressed the same amount of anger to the boy's father, often when she came home late from her job at a diner. She would sit down and look through the bills, sighing and trying to decide if they could do without heat for a month. But, when worse came to worse, she always took care of her boy. To the end.

When Tommy was done packing, he sat and looked around his small room. He had left clothes out for tomorrow, but everything else was away. He had gotten too comfortable, he decided. He couldn’t let his guard down, that’s what people look for when they hurt you. 

The next day, his life would be completely and irrevocably changed, but he didn’t know that. So he slept.


End file.
